


trip

by fishysama



Series: goretober 2020!!! [6]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Self-Harm, Therapy, Violence, hehe, implied faggotry, lmaoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26869606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishysama/pseuds/fishysama
Summary: goretober day 6: psychedelichannibal fixes will some tea.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: goretober 2020!!! [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950796
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	trip

Will looks at the cup of tea before him with a slight grimace. “...I don’t think this falls within the boundaries of ‘therapy.’”

“I have no problem in trying untraditional methods,” Hannibal pushes the teacup forward with his fingertips, lips pursed, “If you are alright with that, of course.”

“You want to see me high?”

Hannibal smirks, releasing a huff of amused air, “Perhaps. That is not the purpose, however.”

Will clicks his tongue, testing the temperature of the drink with his finger, “How is this supposed to help me, exactly?”

“Psilocybin can assist with attributing positive emotions towards negative memories. This could potentially aid in blurring your memories of your work on the field. Of Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

Will flinches slightly. “I’m not sure if I want those to be  _ positive _ memories.”

“You know that those memories are negative, Will.” Hannibal sits across from him, crossing his legs. “There’s no need for you to go through emotional trauma because of them.”

Will pauses for a moment, trying to think of another rebuttal. There are none. He takes the thin handle of the porcelain teacup and brings it to his mouth.

Thirty minutes pass and Will doesn’t feel the slightest bit high. He and Hannibal don’t even speak as they wait for it to kick in: Hannibal simply studies Will with a smile, Will stares into the half-empty cup thoughtlessly.

When the psilocybin finally hits the bloodstream, though, it comes instantly. With one blink, Will is looking at a cup of psychedelic mushroom tea. With the next, he’s looking at a cup of human blood. He’s frozen with shock for a moment, dipping his finger into the cup once again and watching crimson weave through creases in his fingerprint. “Doctor Lecter—”

Garret Jacob Hobbs sits across from him, legs crossed, wearing Hannibal’s thoughtful smirk like a shoplifted suit jacket. The bullet wounds are just where Will left them. “What do you see?”

There’s no hesitation with this hallucination. Will reaches for his holster instantly.

At the sight of silver catching the light in Will’s hand, Hobbs jarringly stands, not even bothering to push out his chair first. It scrapes against the hardwood at a frequency that makes Will’s ears bleed. “Will, don’t—”

Will holds up the handgun, aiming. He’s shivering with anticipation, the taste of blood raw in his mouth. He can’t even speak, can’t tell his nightmare all the vile things he wanted to say. He feels breath on the back of his neck. Antlers cloud his vision.

Hobbs moves quickly, bounding over to the other edge of the table—not to avoid the potential bullet, but to protect Will from himself. He grabs Will by the shoulders, intending to calm, but instead escalates the situation.

Will screams something inhuman and spins around in his chair, knocking the rest of the blood over with his raised arms. It soaks into the table runner. Soaks into his shirt. 

This does not phase Hobbs, however. He’s an experienced killer, one that can’t be deterred by a semi-conscious man. Almost instantly, Hobbs pins him to the table, Will’s head dropping with a strong thud. His ears ring and still, he tries to shoot, tries to kill. It’s his natural reflex, after all. But Hobbs grabs the gun, and Will knows this is the end, watching blood pool across the table take him in and drown him. He prepares himself for his own, deserving cessation. The air is hazy with death. Will can taste it.

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is close behind Will’s ear; he brushes the wiry curls of hair away to get closer. Hannibal enters his mind. “Will, you’re okay. It’s not real.”

He writhes and cries out on the table, banging his head raw. Even if he closes his eyes, he sees blood, he sees him killing Hobbs and Hobbs killing him and sees Hannibal watching them, indifferent.

“Will.” Hannibal places down his gun, leaning on Will’s back. Hannibal inhales, taking in the perfect scent of fear. “Quiet, Will. I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://juroguro.tumblr.com/)


End file.
